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Broken Egg

The room drowns in lack of heartbeat. Does the doctor understand how hard it is for me to crumple up that paper gown and throw it away? To slide into my panties and jeans, to look at my stomach which will remain flat. Across the globe, a penguin couple inspects their egg, which has a splice in its side. A tuft of white feather hangs from the mother’s beak, her remnant of failure. The crevice is already swathed in ice. While the mother penguin bleats over her egg, the chill air in the operating room makes my bare back shudder. We will both return to the world with nothing.


Karissa Knox Sorrell is the author of the chapbook Evening Body (Finishing Line Press, 2016). She earned her MFA from Murray State University in 2010. Her poems have been seen in Hawai’i Pacific Review, Gravel Mag, Two Cities Review, and Flycatcher, among others. Karissa lives in Nashville, Tennessee, where she works as an ESL teacher. Connect with her at


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